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Show At tlie Tfinib of (irnnU 1 had occasion to drive in tho vicinity of ! Grant's tomb a few days since, and was 1 attracted as I drew near It to the horse p,;iy and extraordinary antics of some young men and women standing at the open portals of the vault. I left my carriage car-riage and walked the Utile distance from the driveway to the tomb, and just as I reached it one of the boys, looking in, imitated the shrill, loud too-whlt too-hoo of the owl, and as the echo rolled about the iron box in which the embalmed and enameled clay rests the crowd laughed and repeated it. There in full public gaze, the wind blowing the reckless dust and scattering leaves in upon it, stands the iron box. So far as it is concerned it might os well stand in tho City Hall park or in the midst of Broadway's tumultuous i human tide. Respect for the dead, regret j for the dust, affection for the one father, husband, friend, general, president, where I Is the faintest semblance of either one pr. the other? A few potted plants, several withered leaves, a park policeman and a gaping, curious, laughing crowd. That's all. Is there no sanctity about our dead? Is there no tender memory associated with this man's activities? Is there no glory remaining to the great name which inspired armies on the one hand and made them cower with apprehensive fear on the other.; or is it, as has been charged, that that body stands there to-day sinrply the hinge on which a speculative real estate ring moves, revolves, aud bides the time of its enormous profit? Joseph Howard's Letter. |